Poor Girl Answered a Call in Russian in Front of The CEO – Next Day, Her Baby Was..

The Deception Unveiled and the CFO’s Scheme

Natalyia stepped into the cavernous office, clutching her worn purse like a shield. What she saw next made her heart stop.

There in a state-of-the-art infant seat on Westbrook’s massive desk was Alexe. He was happily playing with a luxurious stuffed bear she’d never seen before.

“My baby,” Natalyia gasped, rushing toward Alexe with a mixture of confusion and terror. Her mind raced through impossible scenarios.

Had someone taken him from Mrs. Garcia? “Was this some kind of cruel power play?”

“Please sit down, Ms. Petrov,” Westbrook said. His tone was measured as he gestured to a leather chair across from his desk.

“Your son is perfectly fine. Mrs. Garcia contacted my office early this morning when you didn’t answer your phone.”

“It seems the battery died.” Natalia fumbled for her phone, realizing with horror that he was right.

In her anxiety about the meeting she’d forgotten to charge it overnight. “But how did Mrs. Garcia know to call you?” she asked.

She reached for Alexe, who gurgled happily at the sight of his mother. Westbrook’s expression softened slightly.

“After our encounter the other night I had my team do some research. Standard procedure when someone catches my attention at the company.”

He paused, studying her face. “You’re quite remarkable Miss Petro. Master’s degree in literature from St. Petersburg University, published translator of Chekhov.”

Yet here she was working two minimum wage jobs in New York. Natalyia stiffened, cradling Alexe protectively against her chest.

“My education means nothing without proper work authorization Mr. Westbrook.” “Yes about that,” he said, sliding a folder across the desk.

“Your visa expired 14 months ago; you’re here illegally.” The blood drained from Natalya’s face.

This was the moment she’d feared since the day her student visa expired. She had made the desperate choice to stay.

Alexe had been born prematurely, requiring extensive medical care. Returning to Russia would have meant abandoning that care, perhaps losing him altogether.

“Are you going to report me?” she asked quietly. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Westbrook leaned back in his chair, hands steepled beneath his chin. “That depends on how our conversation goes.”

He nodded toward the folder. “Open it.” With trembling fingers, Natalyia flipped open the folder while balancing Alexe on her lap.

Inside wasn’t the deportation notice she’d expected but rather a series of photographs. These were old black and white images of a young couple.

The woman bore a striking resemblance to Natalia herself. “I recognized your accent immediately,” Westbrook said, his voice taking on an unexpected warmth.

“Not just St. Petersburg but specifically Vyborg. My grandmother Elena grew up there before the war.”

Natalia stared at the photos, unable to process the connection. “I don’t understand what this has to do with me or my situation.”

Westbrook stood, moving to gaze out at the Manhattan skyline. “My grandmother fled Russia during the Soviet era.”

She was separated from her younger sister during the escape. That sister was named Anastasia, who was believed to have died.

He turned back to face her. “Until recently when my mother decided to research our family history using one of those DNA ancestry services.”

Natalyia’s breath caught. “I think we’re related. I know we are. Distant cousins to be precise.”

The service matched them to her sister Arena, who apparently submitted her DNA last year out of curiosity. Westbrook returned to his seat.

“When I heard you speaking Russian, saw your face, you have the same eyes as my grandmother. I knew I needed to confirm my suspicion.”

Alexe began to fuss and Natalia bounced him gently, her mind reeling from this revelation.

“Even if what you say is true Mr. Westbrook it doesn’t change my legal status or my mother’s condition.”

“Actually it might change both.” Westbrook pressed a button on his desk phone. “Diane please send in Mr. Kaplan.”

Moments later a distinguished older man in a tailored suit entered carrying a leather briefcase.

“Miss Petrov this is Samuel Kaplan, the best immigration attorney in New York and Westbrook Enterprises Legal Council.”

Mr. Kaplan nodded politely, taking a seat beside Natalia. “Mr. Westbrook has explained your situation.”

“There are several avenues we can explore to regularize your status. This includes family-based petitions and employment sponsorship.”

Natalyia’s head spun with disbelief. “Why would you do this for me? We’re barely related if at all.”

Westbrook’s expression grew somber. “Family is family however distant. But more importantly I recognize talent and determination when I see it.”

“You’ve managed to survive in one of the world’s most expensive cities. You worked two menial jobs while caring for an infant.”

She had done all this while living under the constant threat of deportation. He leaned forward.

“Westbrook Enterprises has a Russian division that’s expanding. We need someone with your linguistic abilities and cultural understanding.”

The offer hung in the air between them, too good to be true. “And my mother?” Natalyia asked, her voice raking.

“My private jet is being prepared as we speak,” Westbrook replied, checking his watch.

“It can have you in St. Petersburg by tomorrow morning. Mr. Kaplan has already arranged for an emergency humanitarian parole document.”

This document would allow her to return legally. Tears welled in Natalyia’s eyes.

Before she could respond the office door burst open. A stylishly dressed woman in her 40s stormed in, her face contorted with rage.

“James what is the meaning of this?” The woman’s gaze darted between Westbrook, Natalyia, and the baby.

“You’re sending the company jet to Russia for a cleaning lady? Have you lost your mind?”

Westbrook’s jaw tightened. “Victoria this is a private meeting.”

“Private?” Victoria scoffed, her manicured hand gesturing wildly.

“The board called me in a panic after you authorized an international flight for non-businessiness purposes. And now I find you here with this woman and her child.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Natalia. “Is this why you’ve been so distracted lately? Another one of your charity cases?”

Natalyia felt herself shrinking under the woman’s hostile glare. She clutched Alexi tighter as he began to cry, disturbed by the tension.

“Victoria, enough,” Westbrook said, his voice steel-edged.

“Miss Petro is a distant relative who needs our help and potentially a valuable asset to our international division.”

Victoria laughed a cold brittle sound. “A relative? How convenient.”

“Did you know Miss Petro that James has a pattern of discovering relatives whenever he meets a pretty young woman in need?”

Mr. Kaplan cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Perhaps we should reschedule.”

“No,” Westbrook interrupted, his expression hardening as he faced Victoria.

“Ms. Petro and I have business to conclude. You’re the one who should reschedule.”

As the tension escalated, Natalyia began to understand the dynamics at play. Victoria wasn’t just a board member or colleague.

The proprietary way she stood in Westbrook’s office and her accusations suggested a close bond. This was clearly his wife or partner.

“Your mother’s condition is extremely serious isn’t it?” Victoria suddenly asked Natalia. Her tone shifted to something more calculating.

“Stage 4 cancer I believe.” Natalyia frowned in confusion. “No she had a stroke, why would you think…?”

“A stroke?” Victoria raised an eyebrow, looking triumphantly at Westbrook.

“That’s not what her sister told my investigator this morning.” Westbrook’s face paled. “What have you done Victoria?”

The atmosphere in Westbrook’s office crackled with tension as Victoria pulled out her phone. She played a recorded conversation.

A voice that was unmistakably Arena’s spoke in halting English. It was clearly responding to questions about their mother’s health.

According to the recording their mother was perfectly fine. She was enjoying her morning tea and tending to her garden as she did every day.

“You had my sister followed.” Natalyia’s voice trembled with indignation as Alexi continued fussing in her arms.

Victoria smiled coldly. “Not followed. Called. Simple due diligence when my husband suddenly decides to send the company jet halfway around the world.”

She turned to Westbrook. “James this woman is lying to you. There is no family emergency.”

Natalyia felt the ground shifting beneath her. “No that’s impossible. Arena called me two nights ago.”

“Our mother had a stroke. She’s in the hospital.” Westbrook’s piercing gaze fixed on Natalyia, uncertainty clouding his demeanor.

“Miss Petro is there something you haven’t told me?” “I swear to you my mother is ill,” Natalyia insisted, her heart pounding.

How could Arena have said otherwise unless… the realization hit her like a physical blow.

The call from Arena had come at an unusual hour. Her sister’s voice had sounded strange, almost rehearsed.

She hadn’t called back since despite the severity of their mother’s supposed condition. “May I see that phone number?” Natalyia asked Victoria.

Victoria showed her the screen with a triumphant smirk. The number was similar to Arena’s but off by two digits.

“Not her sister at all,” someone whispered. Natalyia whispered, “But who would do that and why?”

“A very good question,” Westbrook said, his tone now guarded.

“Perhaps to manipulate me into offering help, a job, legal status?” Natalyia stood abruptly, causing Alexe to wail louder.

“You think I orchestrated all this? That I somehow knew you’d overhear me speaking Russian and investigate my background?”

The accusations stung worse than she could have anticipated. For a brief shining moment she’d allowed herself to hope.

She believed that her circumstances might actually change. Victoria looked smug.

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried to take advantage of James’s generosity.”

Mr. Kaplan, who had remained silent, finally spoke up. “Perhaps we should verify the facts directly.”

“Ms. Petrov could you call your actual sister right now on speakerphone?” Natalyia nodded, grateful for the attorney’s level-headed suggestion.

She dialed Arena’s real number, praying her sister would answer despite the early hour in Russia.

After four rings Arena’s sleepy voice came through. “Natasha’s vanish?” she asked, why Natalyia was calling so early.

Natalyia explained the situation quickly in Russian, asking about their mother. Arena’s confusion was evident.

Their mother was fine with no health issues at all. And no, she hadn’t called Natalyia about any emergency.

As the call ended the office fell into uncomfortable silence. Westbrook’s expression had darkened considerably.

“It seems you’ve been the victim of some kind of deception Miss Petro,” he said carefully.

“But the question remains. Who would go to such lengths and why?” Victoria rolled her eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious? Someone who knows about your weakness for damsel in distress stories.”

“Someone who wanted to put this woman in your path,” she added, pointing accusingly at Natalia.

“She might not have orchestrated it but she’s certainly part of it.” Westbrook turned to his desk and pressed the intercom.

“Diane get security to pull all visitor logs and surveillance footage from the night before last.”

“Focus on anyone who might have been on the executive floor when I encountered Ms. Petro.”

Diane’s voice came through crisply. “Already done sir. There’s something you should see.”

Moments later Diane entered with a tablet displaying security footage. The video showed Natalyia cleaning the executive floor.

What she hadn’t noticed was a man in a suit watching her from around a corner. He was checking his watch repeatedly.

When she answered her phone and began speaking Russian, the man nodded with satisfaction. He sent a text message before slipping away.

“Freeze that image,” Westbrook commanded, leaning forward to study the screen. His face hardened.

“Richard Keiting your CFO?” Victoria asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Why would he?”

“Because I’ve been investigating financial discrepancies in our Eastern European operations,” Westbrook said grimly.

“Discrepancies that point directly to Richard. He’s been embezzling through our Moscow office for years.”

Natalyia gasped as the pieces began falling into place. “And he needed a distraction. Something to divert your attention from the investigation.”

Westbrook nodded, his expression grim. “Not just any distraction. A Russian-speaking employee with a complicated immigration status and a child to protect.”

“The perfect pawn. He must have researched me beforehand,” Natalyia said, thinking aloud.

“He knew about my sister, my background, and hired someone to impersonate her for that call.”

“And he likely assumed I would either fire you on the spot for violating company policy,” Westbrook continued.

“This would create a human interest scandal he could leak to the press.”

“Or you would try to help her, giving him leverage over you,” Victoria finished. Her earlier hostility was replaced by dawning comprehension.

“Either way it would derail your investigation.” Mr. Kaplan pulled out his phone.

“I’ll contact the authorities immediately. This is attempted corporate sabotage at minimum.”